Relatives are Normal but Normal is Relative
by elfgirl13
Summary: Just starting their third year of college in New Rome, Percy and Annabeth think they might finally be home free until yet another bombshell destroys the illusion. There's another prophecy and they're both mentioned, but this time there's a catch: they're not the heroes, they're the targets. And their enemies are closing in.
1. Paul Gets In Over His Head

Paul wasn't sure when exactly he had become the default helpline for demigods in distress, but by his best guess it started not too long after Percy and his girlfriend Annabeth started college in New Rome.

Despite having only been in his life for a few years, Percy had managed to worm his way into Paul's affections. Even if the kid's beautiful single mother hadn't figured into the picture, Paul suspected that he would have felt drawn to Percy in any case. He had a soft spot for lost troublemakers, and Percy Jackson was as lost as they come.

Of course, the reason for his oddities became clear several months into his relationship with Sally. He remembered that night like it was yesterday: sitting on her couch, waiting for their favorite show to come on, and sipping wine while Paul regaled her with tales of construction workers disrupting classes as they hurried to repair the damage caused by the explosion on orientation day. Had he not been so nervous, he might have noticed how uncomfortable the topic was making Sally. As it was, he barely registered what he was saying, focusing mainly on the lump of the velvet box in his pocket. In the space between end of the six o' clock news and the start of the next show, he slid rather ungracefully from the couch and onto one knee, pulling the ring from his pocket as he expressed his love and desire to spend the rest of his life with her.

To say Sally looked stunned would be an understatement. An entire Roman legion could have marched past her and she wouldn't have noticed. When she tried to speak, no words came out, her mouth instead flapping uselessly like a fish. Just when Paul was about to apologize and make his exit, she seemed to find her voice and told him that she would love to marry him but if she were going to do that she would need to be completely honest with him. She said something else about Percy, but Paul was too excited about her tentative yes to really register what she was saying. It wasn't until she started her story about the unusual circumstances of her son's birth that he was snapped back into reality.

Reality, as it turned out, was stranger than fantasy after all. He always knew Sally never liked to talk about Percy's father and after having met the man himself he was beginning to understand why. Something about Poseidon just seemed off, as if he were radiating some form of energy that made Paul want to slam the door in his face and bolt it shut. Occasionally, he would speculate as to the man's identity, considering the possibilities of the mysterious Poseidon being part of a gang and sneaking away to rendezvous with Sally, or a poor fisherman who left to give her a better life, or - on a night when his imagination was particularly active - a sort of Greek James Bond that couldn't stay with his family because of the danger but kept an eye on Percy to make sure his enemies didn't use him against him.

Theory 007 was half right. Poseidon was indeed Greek and there were various rules and dangers that prevented him from seeing his son as much as he would like, but he was far from a spy. He was a god, Sally explained. At first Paul meant she was commenting on his ruggedly handsome appearance (really, the man's jawline was completely unfair), but Sally assured him she meant it in the literal sense. He wasn't just named after the Greek god of the sea. He was the Greek god of the sea, and Percy was actually a demigod, like Hercules or Theseus from the old myths.

Paul sat dumbfounded as Sally went on to explain that while Percy's parentage gave him special abilities, it also brought trouble. Monsters could smell him from a mile away because he was so powerful, and every creature in Tartarus wanted a piece of such a juicy prize. The monsters were why Percy never stayed at the same school for very long. Monsters would attack, things would get messy, and Percy would always get the blame because some magical Mist kept mortals like him from seeing the truth.

Trying not to be offended at being called a "mortal" by the woman to whom he had just proposed, Paul swallowed a few times and asked if there were others like Percy in the world. He didn't know if he was terrified or relieved to find out that the Greek pantheon was procreating with just as much enthusiasm as they had in ancient times. He figured Percy could use the support of people in similar circumstances to his and wondered vaguely if there was a demigod support network.

That was when it hit him that he was taking Sally's bombshell incredibly well. It was almost as if his suspicions were being confirmed instead of his entire world view turning an about face in the course of a single conversation. He never once even considered the possibility that she had lost or mind or that she was lying. And why should he? Sally Jackson was one of the most honest and level-headed people he'd ever met. Even when she wanted to hide something she would never cover it or make excuses. She would just withhold the information and then tell as much truth as she felt comfortable sharing. And she definitely wasn't crazy.

For whatever reason, Sally - being of sound mind - firmly believed that Poseidon was actually an immortal Hellenistic deity and that Percy, being his son, had inherited some of his powers and was in constant danger because of them. It was a lot to swallow but, to his own surprise, not more than he could handle. He had his doubts, of course, and probably always would. But one thing he couldn't doubt was how much he loved the woman sitting next to him, no matter what ancient religions she practiced.

After assuring her that the idea of a half-god for a stepson did nothing to make him what to leave her, Sally gave him a firm yes before pulling out her phone and calling to give Percy the good news. They decided on a December wedding during his and Percy's winter break from school. Over the next few months, he made it a point to spend as much time with the teenager as he could, humoring him when he talked about his life as a demigod and his friends at some demigod camp in Long Island but quietly reserving judgment on the subject until he knew more. He only began to truly believe his stepson's story when Percy and his friend Rachel had gone off for a short drive in Paul's Prius and Rachel returned alone, babbling some explanation about another half-blood coming to get Percy and the two of them flying off on a black pegasus. The four hoof prints on the hood of his car supported her story, but it wasn't until the Jeep sized hellhound had parked herself in his living room along with his stepson and an unconscious pre-teen that he finally accepted the existence of the Greek pantheon as indisputable fact.

Not too long after the Prius incident was the Battle of Manhattan as the demigods called it. Paul himself had actually played a part, using his nearly forgotten fencing skills from his college Shakespearean theatre class. Even though he couldn't see through the Mist like Percy and Sally could, it was still pretty easy to tell which were the monsters and which were the good guys. For starters, the demigods were all wearing some kind of bronze armor that was easy to spot. For another, all the monsters smelled vaguely of sulfur and looked like Arab militants shouting "Death to America!" Afterwards, when it was all over, he chuckled at the Mist's particular choice of disguise. Considering Greece's relationship with Egypt over the years, it was no wonder that the mythical (but surprisingly effective) veil was a little bit racist.

Everything was fine for awhile. Paul started helping Percy find ways to better cope with his dyslexia and ADHD while Sally finally made some serious progress on her novel. Every Saturday Percy's girlfriend from camp, Annabeth, would take the F train uptown to the Jackson apartment for pizza and game night with the family. Most times, she even stayed the night, although Sally insisted she stay on the couch and even went so far as to put a bell on Percy's door so everyone could hear if it opened. Paul found the whole situation pretty funny and after awhile convinced his overprotective wife that the bell wasn't really necessary since Annabeth at least was trustworthy. The comment earned him an annoyed glare from the stepson he was quickly starting to think of as his own, but it was worth it to see the looks on the two kids' faces when he told them that Goode School's winter break was two weeks long that year. Percy and Annabeth were thrilled at the idea of getting to spend two whole weeks together at Camp Half-Blood now that Annabeth's project of redesigning Olympus was finished and she didn't plan on taking a bus all the way back to California on her own. They left for camp at the start of break wearing matching grins like they weren't immersed in a crude Tolkien novel 24/7.

And then Percy disappeared. Gods of Olympus, those first few weeks had to be some of the worst of Paul's life, and that was counting the time he'd been stuck in three consecutive air ports for several days each due to inclement weather. He and Sally were frantic with worry and their friends at Camp Half-Blood weren't much better. Chiron, the director, assured them that they had their best people out looking and that even the Hunters of Artemis, who never lost a trail, had joined in. Funnily enough, as time crawled by and days turned into weeks, the old centaur's words seemed less reassuring and more desperate. Even after they managed to get a general idea of his location - apparently the Roman aspects of the gods were just as promiscuous as their Greek forms - it was still months before they could send a team out to retrieve him and from there they immediately set out on an important quest. It seemed the fate of the world once again hung in the balance and Percy Jackson was a key player.

He handled Percy's absence far better than Sally did, which he supposed was appropriate given that he was her son that she'd taken care of his whole life and he was just a stand-in for an absentee sea god that had really only come into the picture a few years earlier. He comforted her as best he could and encouraged her to write some of her feelings and experiences into her novel to make them seem a little less real and powerful. When that stopped working, he asked her to help him see through the Mist like she could. It was a longer and more complicated process than he had expected and he always passed out for seven or eight hours after each lesson but it seemed to take Sally's mind off the danger Percy could be in, at least for a little while. After a few months, he made some progress in his training. Catching occasional glimpses of satyrs and sluggish monsters on the way to work was a little unnerving, but at least it gave him a better understanding of his stepson's world. Well, that and the Greek mythology textbooks he'd been obsessively reading since Percy's disappearance.

Percy finally came home on his seventeenth birthday, Annabeth and two other teenagers in tow. For the first time in their three year relationship, Paul saw Sally cry as she leaped from her seat at her computer and sprinted across the apartment to wrap her arms around her son. Once he recovered from his shock, Paul joined them, pulling Annabeth into their little group hug. He was almost as relieved to see her again as he was Percy.

Sally made dinner while Percy, Annabeth, and their two demigod friends they introduced as Jason and Piper sat around the kitchen table and recounted their adventures. Paul was fairly certain they were leaving big details out, but he didn't say anything. He had a feeling that if he learned what demigod quests were really like he'd lock Percy in his room and only let him out for meals and bathroom breaks. Even with the heroes' bare bones account of the voyage of the Argo II, Sally looked like she was seriously considering that possibility.

Thankfully, Percy and Annabeth waited until dessert to make their big announcement. Any sooner and Sally would have likely marched on Olympus herself with nothing but a double-barrel shotgun and her motherly rage. After all, she had only just gotten her boy back. She didn't even want to think about him leaving for college on the other side of the country.

That was their plan. Annabeth would spend the next year in New York with them and after that the two of them would head off the Roman demigod camp in California. Apparently, the Romans had built a sort of safe-haven for demigods that were no longer a part of the legion but didn't want to deal with the harsh reality of a demigod's life on the outside. New Rome was an entire city, completely shielded from mortals and monsters by the Mist and powerful magic. Percy and Annabeth could go to college in peace, and after that they could spend the rest of their lives in peace; getting jobs in New Rome, finding friends in New Rome, living the normal life that they'd never gotten to experience as teenagers. Maybe, they could even get married and start a family (but that was way in the future, right?)

Paul was happy for them. He really was. The distance didn't bother him nearly as much as it bothered Sally. Annabeth's dad lived in San Francisco, practically spitting distance from Camp Jupiter. From the stories Percy had told him about Frederick Chase, the eccentric military history professor would be more than capable of looking after the two half-bloods if things went south. But he still felt a twinge of sadness. Percy was leaving again in a little over a year. He wasn't a kid anymore, and Paul was beginning to wonder if he'd ever known him as one.

The next year past quickly and soon Paul's melancholy was replaced by mild irritation as boxes started piling up in the apartment during the last weeks of Percy and Annabeth's senior year. By the time they put on their caps and gowns, all their belongings had been packed away. They left for Camp Half-Blood that night, allotting two weeks to say goodbye to their friends, enemies, and old haunts before climbing Half-Blood Hill for the last time and climbing into the truck Paul had rented for their drive to California. Getting there was the easy part. Getting the two of them unpacked and settled into their respective dorm rooms was another story. The rooms were smaller than Paul's had been and seemed to shrink when Percy's roommate - a wild-eyed blond who was so hyped up he was literally vibrating named Dakota - arrived. Percy seemed to recognize him since he immediately jumped up and hugged the kid, but even he seemed overwhelmed after a couple minutes of Dakota's endless chatter. He looked at Paul like he was wondering what the Roman penalty for killing your roommate was.

Yeah, looking back, that was where it started, Paul thought to himself as he absentmindedly graded tenth grade essays on Romeo and Juliet. Honestly, they were probably all getting A's on the assignment since he was too distracted to read more than two or three sentences of each essay. Usually, he enjoyed grading this assignment because while there were usually several well-written essays, there was always inevitably the handful of students who either missed the point entirely or didn't even bother to read the place because they "already knew how it ended." Truth be told, cocky tenth graders waxing poetic about the star-crossed lovers' happily ever after was at least twenty-five percent of the reason he loved his job so much (the other seventy-five percent was because his eleventh grade Macbeth unit gave him the perfect excuse to haul out the swords and armor from his own Shakespeare days). But not even the Bard - or his students' gross misunderstanding of the Bard's work - could hold his attention after his earlier Iris Message chat with Percy and Annabeth. He glanced uneasily at the spiral bound notebook sitting a few feet away from him, looking perfectly innocent in the dim light.

Surrendering to the inevitable, he yawned, stretched, and abandoned his papers for the night. Shakespeare could wait. Percy could not. He'd been trying to keep his expression neutral throughout the duration of the call, but Paul knew him well enough to recognize how freaked out he was. The instant his face had appeared in the vapor cloud, it was obvious this wasn't his usual call about a difficult essay or trouble in Latin class. There were dark circles under his eyes, like he hadn't slept in days, and Annabeth's hair was greasy, like she'd forgotten to wash it.

"Don't tell Mom," Percy had said, lowering his voice and glancing behind Paul to make sure Sally wasn't eavesdropping. "It's probably no big deal and I wouldn't want her to worry about nothing, but I need to be sure."

"Then why are you calling me?" Paul had asked. Percy glanced at Annabeth who nodded her encouragement, but her expression was pretty grim.

"You know how it is with demigods and technology," he said. "We can't really just Google something like this without some serious consequences."

"Probably deadly," Annabeth chimed in. Paul chose to ignore her.

"Doesn't your Roman college have a library or something?"

"Yeah," said Percy. "It's huge. The thing is, their selection of Greek lore is kind of..." He trailed off, clearly struggling to find the right word.

"Pathetic," Annabeth chimed in bitterly. "They have the basics and how it relates to the Roman religion, but that's about it. You know, you'd think for such an advanced civilization they'd keep better records."

"Yeah, well the Roman reputation with libraries isn't exactly the greatest," said Paul, thinking about the famed Library of Alexandria and its tragic fate. From the way Annabeth flinched, he guessed she was thinking the same thing.

"That's why we need you," Percy cut in, pulling both the bookworms' minds out of the fourth century and into the twenty-first. "Annabeth has an idea of what we're dealing with, but we need to be sure. Can you do some research for us?"

Paul sighed. Sally was going to kill him if she found out he was helping get Percy involved in yet another dangerous save-the-world-or-die-trying quest, but what could he do? He knew Percy too well to think he would just leave it alone if he didn't have the information, and if he couldn't stop him, he might as well make sure he wasn't running in half-cocked without a clue of what he was up against. Finding him the information he needed couldn't hurt, right? After all, Percy said it probably wasn't anything really and that the research was just a precaution. And Percy was the expert on all things demigod, right?

That sounded pathetic even in his head. If Percy survived whatever the next quest was, the two of them were going to sit down and have a serious talk. Paul was beginning to worry that Sally was going to die of early heart failure if Percy didn't let someone else handle the quests once in awhile. But for now, there was only one thing to do.

"What do you need?"

For the first time during the entire call, Percy smiled. "Do you have a pen and paper? You'll want to write this down."

Paul grabbed a spiral bound notebook from his work area and opened to a fresh page. "Go ahead," he said.

Hours later, he held the same notebook in his hands. He heard Sally sigh and turn over in her sleep from their bedroom, but he couldn't join her, at least not yet. There was no way he'd be able to sleep with Percy's request hanging over his head. As he booted up his laptop, he read over the cryptic words a few more times, trying to glean some meaning but failing miserably:

Who dances in the blood-stained field,

Where beaten dog was made to yield?

Who stalks the heroes bound for war,

To relish in the death and gore?

Whose coming can all men foretell,

As most descend to Asphodel?

Whose mother leads them from the pit,

To seek revenge on sea and wit?

The four will drain the day of light

The day alone too weak to fight.

Unless a victor chains the dog,

The night will have no epilogue.

Paul felt a chill run down his spine. This looked suspiciously like one of those prophecies Percy always seemed to get caught up in. He didn't know where it came from. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. But he promised Percy he'd help anyway he could.

With another weary sigh, he opened a search engine and began to type. It was going to be a long night.


	2. She Left Her Mark In San Francisco

She really wished it would rain.

Rain was good. No one really liked being outside in a cloudburst, even if they claimed to love the rain. In her experience, most people who "loved the rain" really only loved to feel the cool drops on their skin for a few minutes. Once their jeans got wet, they'd head for shelter just like everyone else. A perfect time for someone like her to cover a whole lot of ground in a very short amount of time without arousing suspicion. In a city as big as San Francisco, no one questioned the sight of a lone figure running through the streets in a rainstorm. Most dismissed her as another poor loser who'd gotten caught without an umbrella, and the few who paid her a second glance dwelled on her just long enough to wonder why someone would do something as insane as run at breakneck speed down the city's hills when the concrete was so slick.

This particular day, though, she had different reasons for wanting the sky to open up. The city had been shadowed in rainclouds for almost three days, which was starting to drive her crazy. It wasn't that she really liked sunshine or anything. Most days she actually preferred an overcast sky to a clear one. Just not today. And if it rained, the clouds would disappear.

She knew she was being followed. That didn't surprise her. Being in San Francisco at all was a big risk for her and she would have been more concerned if her arrival hadn't drawn any attention. She'd take an obvious threat over an invisible one any day. So being followed wasn't the issue. The issue was that she should have already been able to shake whoever or whatever was following her off her tail.

For the fourth time in ten minutes, she cursed the clouds. At the moment, her tail didn't know she knew they were there. She couldn't turn around and look without giving up her edge. Besides if the monster or whatever realized she knew it was there, it could attack, and that was something she didn't want to deal with without knowing what she was up against.

Any other time, any other place, any other weather and she would have been able to get a general idea by looking at the ground. No matter how a monster disguised itself, she could always see its true shadow. It was a skill she'd learned to appreciate over the years, having used it once to take out a particularly large cyclops on a moving train before the stupid lump had worked out that she was the delicious half-blood appetizer he was smelling. She wasn't sure she could do it, or even how she did it, just that she could.

With the overcast sky, though, her chances decreased drastically. No sun meant no shadows. No shadows meant that she had no way of knowing who or what was following before the inevitable confrontation. And from her stalker's persistence, she knew it would happen soon.

"Why didn't you carry a compact, moron, like that nymph girl suggested?" she muttered to herself, quickening her pace and trying in vain to disappear behind a group of tourists who didn't seem deterred by the ominous sky. Well, good for them.

One of the men - who for some reason was wearing a winter hat pulled low over his ears - paused to take a photo, presumably of the Golden Gate Bridge which was just barely visible in the fog that had settled over the bay. She breathed an inward sigh of relief and seized the opportunity that had been so conveniently dumped in her lap. She froze in place, her face distressed as if she had forgotten something, and frantically started patting the pockets of her worn cargo pants and faded denim jacket. She had a lot of pockets, which meant she could take her time in getting a good look at her stalker in the distorted reflection on the back of the tourist's iPod.

The group of tourists moved on a moment later, and she made sure to remain where she was for another few seconds before continuing on her way as though she had discovered what she was looking for in one of her many pockets and could relax. In truth, she was more tense than she'd been before. The reflection of her stalker had looked so normal she could almost believe her continued presence had been a coincidence had it not been for the wrongness that seemed to emanate from every cell in her body.

As she walked, she mentally catalogued everything she had gleaned about the mystery woman from her short glance. The woman had been dressed like she had just left a boxing gym or maybe a fight club. Her her blood red lipstick and sharply winged eyeliner contrasted spectacularly with her incredibly messy dark brown hair that was pulled back into such a sloppy ponytail she wondered if the woman would be able to take it out without removing half her hair in the process.

All in all, nothing obviously dangerous. So what was it about this woman that made all her instincts scream RUN?

Pull yourself together, Libby, she ordered herself, trying to calm her pounding heart rate. For reassurance, she reached into her jacket and fingered the hint of the Celestial Bronze hunting knife she liked to keep close. If it came to a fight, the woman was too close to give her enough time to activate her bow, so the knife was her best option. So much the better, she thought grimly. I'm too nervous to aim straight.

She quickened her pace and she felt rather than saw the mystery woman do the same. Clenching her fists, she tried ordering herself to calm down again but it was like she'd lost all self-control. With every step she took, her panic rose. Her pulse was pounding furiously in her ears, drowning out all other sound except her own ragged breathing. She'd never been so scared in her life. To make matters worse all her worst fears, her deepest regrets, and her darkest secrets were pushing their way to the forefront of her mind, loudly demanding her attention.

I know what it is, the boy's voice taunted her. Even years later, she could see the mixture of fear and hope in his wide brown eyes. She felt his clammy hand close around her wrist. You're like me.

I'm nothing like you, she thought vehemently, repeating the phrase over and over almost frantically. But the mantra didn't work. The boy's words continued to reverberate through her head, as clearly as if he was standing right next to her.

You're like me.

You're like me.

You're like me.

And some point she'd reached her panic limit and the fear was starting to bubble into anger. She knew the woman was behind this. Somehow she was messing with her head, playing with her emotions. Her teeth clenched as she tried to force the woman out through sheer willpower, but that only seemed to make it worse. As if the woman were rising to the challenge, the assault doubled in intensity.

Her anger had almost reached boiling point. All semblance of self-control had vanished, replaced by pure, raw emotion. She wanted to turn around and gut the woman with her knife, make her feel every ounce of the pain that some of those memories brought her. Before she could stop herself, she whirled around and lunged at the woman, pinning her to the wall with the knife at her throat.

Instead of looking scared, or even the slightest bit concerned, the woman actually laughed.

"That's more like it," she said. "You have no idea how long I've been trying to get your attention, Libby Guerrero."

At the sound of her name, her grip tightened on the knife. "I have a pretty good idea, actually," she spat. "And how do you know my name?"

The woman raised her hands in a placating gesture. "I think it's time you and I had a talk, mija. You have a lot to learn."

It had been years since Libby had actually been in a restaurant, and now she was too tense to enjoy it. Her stalker seemed to have no such problem, as she slid into a booth by the window and let out a very satisfied sigh. When she saw Libby was still standing, she motioned for her to take the seat across from her. Her smile was large and, on its own, might have been genuine, but her eyes burned with a gleeful malice that Libby knew she could never trust. Even so, resisting probably wasn't going to help her survive this encounter, and until she figured out a way to escape she thought it best to play along.

The woman looked her up and down appraisingly. "You've gotten so big," she observed, sounding for all the world like a farmer looking at his prize pig.

"That tends to happen as you get older," Libby replied, putting as much venom into her voice as she could. "Although I don't remember meeting you before.

The woman smiled wider, revealing two rows of crooked and unusually sharp teeth that gave her appearance a sort of manic, feral look. "You wouldn't remember," she said. "You were only a baby at the time. But I remember you."

"Good for you. Why should I care?"

"You have no idea who I am, do you?"

"Nope. And again: why should I care? As far as I'm concerned you're just some stalker with a freaky mood aura that has it out for me. And honestly? That's all I really need to know."

The woman nodded to herself. "This is good," she said. "All that ferocity...you'll have to learn to use that of course, but really you're much further along than I could have hoped."

Libby didn't particularly appreciate being talked about like a fifth grade mold experiment, but the woman didn't seem to care that she'd insulted her companion. She simply continued talking, more to herself than to Libby.

"Your potential is truly astounding. I can actually feel your anger, daring me to make a move - any move - that will let you plunge that dagger into my eye. And you know what?" she leaned forward as if she were sharing a juicy secret. "It's almost working."

Libby leaned forward too, placing her knife on the table between them. "Look, lady," she said, her voice soft and dangerous. "I don't know who you are or what your deal is, but so help me gods if you don't back off and let me walk out of here in the next thirty seconds, we're going to have a serious problem."

The woman leaned back and crossed her arms. "No, we won't," she said, arching her eyebrows knowingly. "I know you, Libby. You lean distinctly towards the passive-aggressive end of the spectrum, I'm afraid. Oh, you know how to use that blade. I'll give you that. You haven't had much choice in the matter given your lifestyle. But when you're backed into a corner, you prefer to talk your way out. Maybe it's partially because you don't want to give them any reason to come after you later, but it's simpler than that, isn't it? The fact is, you pick your own fights and you only pick fights you stand a reasonable change of winning. You currently know nothing about besides a solid suspicion of my capabilities. You don't even know if I'm armed or not. You've already weighed the risks in your head and determined it's not worth it. Am I wrong?"

Libby continued to glare at her but she couldn't argue with anything the woman said, no matter how badly she wanted to.

"Now," said the woman, glancing at a waiter who was hovering nervously about ten feet from their table, "are you going to continue making empty threats or can I allow that poor waiter to come over here and do this job?"

Libby shrugged and the woman motioned the waiter forward with a crook of her finger. The waiter staggered like a marionette whose strings had just been jerked and trotted eagerly toward the table. But the second he reached them, the woman's face hardened and she tapped her bare wrist impatiently.

"Is this what you call service?" she demanded, sounding genuinely affronted. "We've been sitting here for nearly half and hour and not a single person has come to even take our drink orders!"

The waiter looked stricken. "I-I'm sorry, ma'am," he stammered. "I-is th-there anything I can get you to drink?"

The woman smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Yes," she said. "I'd like to speak to your manager."

The waiter blanched but trotted off obediently to the back of the restaurant. He returned a moment later with a harassed-looking woman who looked almost exactly like him but shorter and female.

The woman explained her complaint in as sickly-sweet a voice as she could muster and before Libby even fully registered what was happening the manager and the waiter were practically at each other's throats, screaming so loudly and making such a scene that several other patrons were beginning to look uncomfortable. As silent as a mouse, the woman slid out of her booth and motioned for Libby, who was beginning to connect the dots, to follow.

When they were safely outside and across the street, the woman said "Don't you worry about food, dear. I've got our real lunch waiting for us in my chariot. Just couldn't resist a little fun. That place totally reeked of family issues. Pull on a single thread and the whole sweater comes unraveled." She stopped when she realized her companion was no longer following her. "Something wrong, dear?"

Libby scowled. "Don't 'dear' me," she said. "I know who you are.

The woman looked pleased. "Finally figured me out, have you? About time, I say."

She extended her arms and took a step forward, clearly going for a hug. Libby backpedaled as quickly as she could until she was out of arms' reach, leaving the woman looking vaguely disappointed.

"Don't touch me," she said.

The woman merely shrugged. "As you will, I guess. But that's not any way to treat your mother."

The world seemed to stop spinning for a full second and Libby was sure she was about to fly off the face of the earth. Clearly she and the woman were on two very different wavelengths.

"My what?" she demanded, desperately hoping she had misheard.

"Well I couldn't let my wonderful sister have all the fun, now could I?" the woman teased. "I call her my archenemy. It drives her crazy because she says that's not what it's like at all. Of course, that just makes me do it more often."

Libby shook her head as if trying to clear it of cobwebs. "But...you're...what?"

"Oh, my precious shadow child. You know who I am."

Glancing back across the street towards the restaurant, she noticed a police car pulling up, two officers leaping out and rushing in. Clearly the disagreement between the manager and the waiter had escalated into something entirely more violent. With a sinking feeling, she realized it was her mother who had caused that. Her mother who once started the bloodiest war in Greek history by tossing an apple into the middle of a table.

She clenched her jaw and looked the goddess of discord in the eye. "Hello, Eris," she said.

The goddess smiled.


	3. Percy and Annabeth Get Back On the Bike

Annabeth had always had strong mixed feelings about Rachel Elizabeth Dare, mostly because she thought Percy kind of had a thing for her. In the end, though, they'd resolved their issues when Rachel had agreed to host the spirit of the Oracle at Delphi, which required her to swear off boys forever. Since then, her feelings for the eccentric, red-headed artist had been largely positive and she would even go so far as to call her a friend.

Now, though, sitting across from the aforementioned friend sipping hot chocolate in the main piazza of New Rome, Annabeth was beginning to rethink her stance. After all, friends didn't drag you out of bed at the crack of dawn to tell you that you were most likely about to die very painfully in the near future and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

"Run that by me one more time," she said blearily, stirring her hot chocolate. For news like this, she wished she had coffee instead, but she had sworn off caffeine entirely after a specific catastrophe known as Sophomore Year.

Rachel at least had the decency to look sympathetic. "Look, it's not a hundred percent clear," she said. "I could be reading it all wrong."

"Because how often has that happened?" Annabeth snapped bitterly. Rachel blinked in surprise.

"There's a first time for everything," she said softly, as though she were worried Annabeth would explode if not treated gently.

With a sigh, Annabeth brushed a strand of her blonde hair away from her face. "Sorry, Rachel," she said. "It's just...I thought I was done, you know?"

"I understand," the Oracle replied. "All your plans...your life with Percy...none of that included another doomsday prediction. You're sick of getting kicked around by forces beyond your control."

That hit a little too close to home for Annabeth's comfort, so she cleared her throat and brought the subject back to safer grounds.

"Tell me everything," she said. "Start from the beginning."

"Define the beginning," Rachel teased.

Annabeth had to smile. For almost four years Rachel and Ella the harpy had been putting their heads together trying to reconstruct the lost Sibylline Books that the harpy had somehow memorized. To start from the true beginning, one would require extensive knowledge of a couple thousand years of history. The reconstruction was a slow process and until recently they'd had no success. Of course, they're first breakthrough had to be the most cryptic prophesy ever written. Annabeth and Percy had contacted his stepdad Paul to see what he could dig up, but neither had much hope that he would be able to extract anything useful from the vague text.

Rachel drained the rest of her hot chocolate before explaining. She wouldn't meet Annabeth's eye. "To seek revenge on sea and wit," she said. "'Sea' is obviously Percy. That didn't take much thought. At first I thought 'wit' might be a mistranslation or a mispronunciation on Ella's part but then I realized..." She trailed off, suddenly very fascinated by the bottom of her styrofoam cup.

"'Wit' is me," Annabeth said softly. "My mother, Athena. She's the goddess of wisdom. It's me."

Rachel nodded, still not meeting her eye.

"The rest of it I still don't understand," she said. "I'm starting to get a vague idea, but I'd rather not say until we know for sure. What I do know, though, is that whatever's happening, you and Percy are in danger. Possibly more danger than you've ever been in before in your lives."

"I'm not sure that's possible," Annabeth teased, trying to lighten the mood, but Rachel remained serious.

"I'm not sure how much time you have," she said, "or even what their end goal is. Are they here solely to kill you and Percy? Is killing the two of you part of some bigger scheme, like the blood sacrifices to Gaea on the Acropolis? You two have a target on your backs, and I don't know why!"

She looked genuinely distressed.

"Maybe you did misinterpret it," Annabeth tried to reassure her. "Maybe that line means that Nemesis is going to make someone pay for something they did to us. Why would some entity start an apocalypse just to get at Percy and me?"

"Well, can you think of any monsters, Titans, gods, or giants you may have ticked off at some point?"

Annabeth arched her eyebrows and Rachel actually smiled. "Point taken," she said. "So the question is, what do we do now?"

"We fight, of course," Annabeth answered immediately. "We stop a third apocalypse and keep those creeps from killing my boyfriend and I."

Rachel's face twitched like she was in pain. Annabeth noticed.

"What is it?" she demanded.

"Nothing."

"Didn't look like nothing."

Rachel sighed. "It's just one of my hunches," she said. "There's a line at the beginning about dogs being forced to yield and at the end there's something about a victor having to chain the dog to succeed. Annabeth, I'm sorry, but whatever this prophecy is...it's not meant for you."

Hot chocolate burned as it splashed all over you, Annabeth soon discovered. In her shock at Rachel's declaration she had lost her grip. But she didn't care.

"What do you mean it's not meant for me?" she demanded. "You said it explicitly mentions me."

"It does, but as a target of the enemy's. The world is on the line again, and this time, so are you and Percy. Your fate rests in some other hero's - this 'victor's' - hands."

"So you're saying there's nothing I can do?"

Rachel hesitated. "I'm saying do what you think you need to do," she said. "You may have no control over the outcome, but you have a right to be on the front lines to fight for your lives. You can stay here and hope that New Rome's magical barriers will protect the two of you from any outside attacks. Or you can go and find this victor and help them in any way you can. It's up to you."

Annabeth thought about it. "If the victor fails, no matter where we are, Percy and I die?"

Rachel nodded sadly.

"Well then," said Annabeth, standing up and slinging her backpack over her shoulder. "Better make sure they don't fail, then."

It took her less than forty-five minutes to explain the situation to Seaweed Brain. She could have gotten through it a lot faster if he hadn't interrupted ever five minutes to ask her to repeat something she had already thoroughly covered. That was the issue with ADHD demigods though: great in battle, not so great at holding long conversations. Especially when it came to topics they didn't really like.

When she finally finished, Percy looked like he'd been clubbed over the head repeatedly by his half-brother Tyson and she was almost tempted to snap her fingers in front of his face despite knowing from past experience that if she did that he would probably start deliberately ignoring her.

Gods, he could be annoying.

It took him a good ten seconds but he finally managed to snap himself out of whatever stupor he was in.

"So let me get this straight," he said, running a hand through his already messy black hair, "you and I are involved in yet another prophecy about the end of the world."

"Yeah," said Annabeth. "But I'm pretty sure you already guessed that."

"But this time we're probably going to die."

"Yep."

"And there's nothing we can do to stop that."

"Rachel doesn't seem to think so."

Percy swore in Ancient Greek and slammed his pen down on his desk so hard that the cap popped off the end and the whole thing expanded into his beloved sword, Riptide. His roommate, Dakota, jumped about a foot when the celestial bronze blade seemed to materialize out of nowhere. Annabeth, as usual, ignored him.

"You need to calm down," she said, resting a reassuring hand on her boyfriend's shoulder. Percy rolled his eyes.

"Calm?" he said. "I'd say I'm pretty calm, Annabeth. At least as calm as you could really expect me to be. You'd think the Fates would've had enough by now. But no! Why would they give up on their favorite puppets?"

Thunder rumbled outside and Annabeth winced. "Maybe be a little nicer when talking about the women that literally control our lives?" she suggested half-heartedly. It was more a force of habit than anything else. She wasn't exactly feeling too charitable towards Fates either.

Percy massaged the back of his neck. "So what do we do?" he asked.

"That's what I needed to talk to you about," Annabeth replied. She grabbed Dakota's chair and pulled it to where she could sit and face Percy. "We've only really got two options: stay put and hope for the best or track down this victor and make sure they save the world."

"We'll be going with option one, of course," Percy said immediately, fingering the hilt of his sword.

Annabeth was stunned. "No," she said. "Gods, Seaweed Brain, how can you say that?"

"I can say that because I'm tired, Annabeth. Not to mention more than a little out of practice."

Annabeth frowned. She hadn't really considered that. Neither of them had really had any training since they'd arrived in New Rome. Sure, they had more than a decade of experience between them but - as Chiron was always so fond of reminding them - even Hercules got a little rusty if he didn't practice regularly. That wouldn't affect them too badly, though, would it? Summer campers were always a little rusty at first, but they remembered their skills pretty quickly after a couple of days. Hero training was like riding a bike.

"So, what?" she demanded, crossing her arms. "You're just going to give up?"

"It's not giving up if there's nothing I can do," Percy insisted. "Look, you and I both know how dangerous messing with prophecies is. If we're not supposed to be involved, we shouldn't force ourselves into this. That's almost guaranteed to get us killed."

"Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?" Annabeth snapped. "The Percy Jackson I know wouldn't take something like this lying down."

"The Percy Jackson you know doesn't want to lose you! We're as safe here in New Rome as anywhere else in the world if Rachel's right; safer, even. Monsters can't get in or out without Terminus' permission and there's not even any weapons allowed inside the Pomerian line!"

Annabeth glanced pointedly at the sword lying across Percy's desk and he at least had the grace to look sheepish. "I can't help that," he said. "No matter how many times Terminus confiscates it, it always appears back in my pocket. You'd think he would have given up by now, but you know him. " He smiled slightly and took Annabeth's hands in both of his. "Look, I love you," he said, "and I don't want anything to happen to you. We can't do anything about this one, so we need to take our best chance at survival, right? We go out there on a quest, we could get killed even before the prophecy gets fulfilled. In here, the only way we die is if the world ends. I don't know about you, but I like those odds."

So that was it, then. Typical Seaweed Brain. He was gung-ho about saving the world right up until it meant putting the people he cared about in danger. Annabeth should have realized he wouldn't be too thrilled about her going on a hopeless quest that was beyond either of their control. Still, she had one more card to play.

"Percy, I get it," she said as sincerely as she could. "And normally, I'd agree with you. But from what it sounds like, hunting us down and destroying the world are separate priorities. Suppose the victor saves the world but not before our mysterious enemy manages to get to us. Do you really think New Rome would be safe from...whatever this is?"

Percy hesitated, and Annabeth knew she'd won. As much as he'd love to stay in the safety of their new home, he wasn't going to risk the city for his own and Annabeth's safety. As dangerous as a quest would be, it was the only option Percy Jackson could go with, in the end.

"Fine," he grumbled, releasing Annabeth's hands and capping Riptide. "How do we track down this victor?"

"I have no idea," said Annabeth happily. "But I think I know who might."


	4. Malcolm Assigns Homework

Mark hated war meetings.

Yes, he was a son of Ares. Yes, that basically meant that war was his specialty. But he liked fighting. That was kind of his thing. Sitting around and talking about war? Not so much. Leave the planning to the nerds in the Athena cabin and just let him and his brothers and sisters hit something already.

When Clarisse had left Camp Half-Blood to join the Marines a few years ago, Mark had been pretty excited to be named to her spot as head counselor. That pretty much meant he was the head honcho of cabin five. Who wouldn't want that? Nobody ever mentioned the war meetings though.

This isn't even a proper war meeting, he thought as he used his pocket knife to clean out from under his nails. Chiron was droning on (something about strawberry sales being down) and even Malcolm, the head counselor from Athena and usually centaur's pet, looked bored.

He wasn't the only one. Mark glanced around the table and saw that, with the exception of Pollux from cabin twelve (strawberries were sort of his domain), not a single counselor was paying attention to what the old centaur had to say. Miranda from Demeter was absently rubbing a finger over the ping-pong table's rough edge and pointedly ignoring Mark, who never really stopped trying to get the pretty brunette's attention. On her left, Clovis snored peacefully while Travis Stoll and Butch Walker painted his face with Cheeto dust. Kayla, from Apollo, was drumming out the beat from some pop song that Mark didn't recognize and apparently annoying Piper McLean to no end. Lou Ellen, from Hecate, was levitating two Pringles containers while Laura from Nike and Tammy from Hebe played an interesting game of keep-away that seemed to involve keeping both cans on their opponent's side of the table. From what Mark could see, Ruth from Nemesis was alternating between keeping score and glaring at Maya from Tyche who was occasionally helping both sides by nudging the cans with her hands.

The match was just getting fascinating when Chiron cleared his throat. Everyone at the table (except Mr. D) jumped and the Pringles cans fell to the table with a surprisingly loud CLANG. Mark almost fell out of his chair, but managed to regain his balance at the last second. Clovis was not so lucky.

Chiron sighed. "Malcolm, would you mind helping Clovis to his feet?"

Malcolm nodded mutely and hauled the dazed counselor from cabin fifteen back into his chair. Travis and Butch snickered at his smudged dusty warpaint, earning them a glare from Chiron.

"I had hoped that insisting on one counselor per cabin would limit these disruptions," the centaur said. Butch looked a little sheepish but Travis just grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. He used to share his post with his brother, Connor, but after several fires Chiron had instated the "one counselor per cabin" rule just to make war meetings go smoother. Unfortunately, he hadn't counted on Travis finding a new partner-in-crime in Butch.

"Now that we're all alert," Chiron continued, "a matter of some importance came to my attention this morning from New Rome."

"Is Annabeth okay?" Malcolm blurted. Piper leaned forward in her seat, her fists clenched on the table. Even Mark was more than a little curious. Annabeth, daughter of Athena, had left Camp Half-Blood a few years earlier to go to college in New Rome. Everyone missed her and her boyfriend, Percy, who'd been staples of the camp for almost as long as Mark had been there.

Chiron hesitated. "Annabeth is fine," he said, but Mark couldn't help but notice he looked worried. "So is Percy. This is about Rachel."

Mark resisted the urge to role his eyes. Of course it was about the Oracle. When was it not? Still, he couldn't help but be a little bit intrigued. The last time Rachel Elizabeth Dare had said anything remotely interesting, the camp had been attacked by angry Romans and a vengeful earth goddess (no connection). Considering how boring life had been since then, Mark figured they were about due for a good old fashioned threat.

Piper twirled the feather braided in her choppy brown hair. "Did she manage to translate the Sibylline books?" she asked.

"She and Ella have finally made some progress," Chiron replied. "They managed to recover one prophecy. Unfortunately, it's cryptic."

Mark snorted. "What a shock," he said. "Because gods forbid Apollo throw us a bone once in awhile."

The look Kayla leveled at him was pure venom. "Would you kindly shut up?" she snapped. "You know exactly why he can't."

An uncomfortable silence settled around the table. Around the time of the Giant War, Apollo's legendary nemesis the Great Python had resettled in the ruins of the Oracle of Delphi, effectively blocking the god's prophetic powers and leaving both the Greek and Roman camps floundering without their respective Oracles and augurs. The head of the Apollo cabin at the time, Will Solace, had set out on a quest with Nico di Angelo to kill the python and bring back their forewarnings. Neither had been seen since.

"So," Laura said after a moment, finally breaking the silence. "What did it say, Chiron?"

They all looked at Chiron expectantly. "It seems to be another Great Prophecy," he said. There was a collective groan, but he plowed forward like he just wanted to get it over with. "Something at least as powerful as Kronos or possibly even Gaea is gaining strength."

Mark grinned. "Now that's what I'm talking about," he said. This time, Piper and Miranda joined Kayla in glaring at him.

This is why he was still single.

"That doesn't answer my question," said Laura. "What does it say exactly?"

"Yeah," said Lou Ellen. "This doesn't seem like something you should be keeping from us."

Chiron sighed again (probably beating his former record for most sighs in a single meeting). "You're right, of course," he said. And then he recited the lines.

To Mark, it sounded like a whole lot of nothing. Then again, prophecies never really meant much to him. It was always Clarisse who insisted they were important. He always just hit whatever she told him too. Maybe not the most effective strategy for a leader, but it had worked for him so far.

Malcolm, on the other hand, had copied the entire thing into the notebook he always brought to meetings like the nerd he was. Kayla looked troubled.

"That sounds pretty sinister," she said. "How does Rachel know it's coming to pass?"

She sounded almost hopeful, even though everyone already knew what Chiron was going to say.

"She has a feeling," the centaur said. "And we can trust her feelings."

Kayla groaned and buried her face in her hands. "Why couldn't my dad just be a bum or something?" she muttered to no one in particular.

"Well, if Rachel's so sure," said Malcolm, "We might still have a little time. Grover hasn't reported any unusual activity since the end of the last war and it took a few months for the last Great Prophecy to start, right?"

Chiron blinked. "What are you suggesting, Malcolm?"

"That we do research. Annabeth sort of guessed that we were going to have to deal with the giants after we beat Kronos since that's what happened last time. If we'd followed up on that, we might have been able to get ahead of things and keep Gaea from rising in the first place."

"But there's nothing in Greek mythology about what happens after the giants," Miranda pointed out. "So we don't have anything to go on."

"That's not entirely true," Malcolm argued. He circled something on his notepad and held it up for everyone to see. "It says 'to seek revenge on sea and wit.' I'll bet you a million drachma that line's about Percy and Annabeth. Clearly they upset whatever we're up against enough for them to want to punish them, personally. That gives us a place to start."

"It doesn't exactly narrow things down, though," Laura pointed out. "Off the top of my head, I can name probably a dozen individual monsters that would have it out for them."

"Oh, way more than that," Ruth chimed in helpfully. "Try four or five dozen."

"The point is," said Laura with a dismissive wave of her hand, "even if we know this thing has a personal vendetta against the two of them, that does absolutely nothing to help us."

There was a gleam in Malcolm's eye that Mark didn't like, one that told him that he would be spending the next week and a half in Chiron's office sifting through every book of Greek mythology ever written.

"That's not entirely true," the son of Athena said. "Let me show you."

Since Chiron was a centaur and all, Mark figured Chiron's office would be pretty spacious, or at least have high enough ceilings that he could get his work done without being cramped in that magical wheelchair of his. Of course, he was wrong. The room itself was pretty small as it was. With fifteen counselors and a centaur crammed in there, it was borderline oppressive.

At least he was pressed up next to Miranda.

"As you all know," said Malcolm from somewhere near Chiron's desk, "everyone who completes a quest is required to fill out a field report when they get back to camp."

"I didn't know that," said Mark. Someone shushed him. It was probably Kayla. Apparently she found the sound of his voice annoying.

"Well, that's because you don't pay attention, Mark," said Malcolm without missing a beat. "Most field reports are pretty sloppy. Clarisse's, for instance, basically says 'got the Fleece; Percy, Annabeth, Grover, and the freaking cyclops helped.' Not very helpful, I'm afraid. However, Annabeth was always more thorough in her reports. Everyone please take one..."

Mark got elbowed at least four times before he found himself holding what looked like an essay entitled "The Quest to Find Daedalus" neatly handwritten on white-lined notebook paper. Even without her name on the top line, Mark could have guessed it was Annabeth's. No one else could have handwritten what looked like a novel on the search for one old man in a maze. From the looks of things, she didn't even cover the battle that happened afterwards. As far as Mark was concerned, that was the interesting part.

Since Annabeth had been on an exceptional number of quests over the years (some with Percy, some without him), there were enough reports for everyone to have their own. Each was at least as thick as the one Mark was holding.

"This should help narrow things down a little," Malcolm was saying. Mark wondered when he was going to get to the point. "If we all take the time to carefully read each of these reports, we should be able to come up with a list of powerful entities that have it in for our favorite couple. After that, we can cross reference the list with what we know from Greek mythology and compare it to the prophecy. I mean, it's not perfect, but it's a start."

There was a moment of silence broken only by the occasionally creak of Chiron's wheelchair as he rocked thoughtfully back and forth. "I like it," the centaur said. "We'll have another meeting next week to discuss our findings. Until then, I guess this one is adjourned."

Mark didn't wait to be told twice. He turned on his heel and began pushing his way towards the door, making sure to step on Kayla's toe as he did so. She let out an indignant squawk but didn't seem to realize it was him. Success!

His cabin was probably in the arena. That's where they usually were whenever they had free time. Glancing at the orange sun setting over Half-Blood Hill, Mark estimated they had about twenty minutes for dinner. Plenty of time to get down there and throw out a few pointers to his less experienced siblings before they ate.

"So what'd you get?" a voice from behind him suddenly asked. He whirled around, instinctively reaching for his sword, only to find himself face to face with Laura, the head of the Nike cabin and the oldest camper there.

"Your field report," she amended, seeing the look of confusion on his face. "Which do you have to read?"

"The Labyrinth," Mark replied. "Pretty boring stuff."

Laura snorted. "Oh, I don't know, I had to do some scouting down there before the battle," she said. "'Boring' isn't exactly the word I would use to describe it."

"Oh yeah? And what would you use?"

"'Eerie,' maybe. 'Unsettling.' Clarisse refused to go back down there, you know?"

Mark rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, Clarisse was smitten with that Rodriguez guy," he said. "There's no way an underground tunnel freaked her out that much. She probably just didn't want to leave him alone."

"Whatever," said Laura. "Either way, your reading is probably a whole lot less depressing than mine." She held up her report, but Mark couldn't make out the title.

"What is it?" he asked.

"A full report of her and Percy's time in Tartarus," Laura replied. "You know, I thought I was done with homework when I dropped out of college. Guess I should have known better, huh?"

"Probably," Mark agreed. "Well, not that this hasn't been fun, but I have to grab my cabin before dinner."

"They in the arena?"

"Probably."

"I'll come with. I told my guys I'd meet them there after the meeting."

Of course she did, Mark thought. The Nike cabin was the only group that spent as much time in the arena as his cabin, and that drove him crazy. It wasn't that he didn't like the Nike cabin. In fact, he tried to get them on his Capture the Flag team any chance he got. And Laura could be pretty cool, even if she was five or six years older than him. The problem was, whenever cabins five and seventeen ended up sharing the arena, things got ugly.

Sure enough, when he and Laura got there, six campers in ripped orange t-shirts were engaged in what looked like all-out war. The field was pretty uneven, with four Ares campers to Nike's two, but Mark knew from experience that the two groups were more than evenly matched. His campers may have been the children of the war god, but Nike was the goddess of victory and her kids were nothing if not competitive.

"Do you want to break them up, or should I?" Laura asked wearily. Mark watched as one of the Nike guys clotheslined Sherman and Felicity with Sherman's own spear.

"I got this," he said, before drawing his own sword and charging into the fray. It took longer than it should have to separate them, and much to his embarrassment, Laura had to step in to get her guys under control. When the dust had settled, the two of them did a quick injury count. Determining that no one required immediate medical attention, they herded their respective siblings back to their cabins to get ready for dinner. Before they parted ways, though, Laura through a wink in Mark's general direction.

"Don't forget," she said. "It's Trivia Night. This should be fun."


End file.
